


Natural Performer

by Caskuro



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, I mean he knows someone's there, Implied MorMor, Kinda, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-29
Updated: 2016-01-29
Packaged: 2018-05-16 22:46:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 450
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5843899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caskuro/pseuds/Caskuro
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's interesting, how well one can perform under pressure...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Natural Performer

            It wasn't particularly often that he did this. Not out of any _idiotic_ notion of restraint; but simply because...well, he had plenty of eager _volunteers_ on hand – figurative and literal. 

  
                                     _Ohh_  but no, no, no~. This time it simply wouldn't _do_ to have someone take care of it.  
 

            Honestly his hand was down his trousers before he made the conscious decision to unbutton them. Hah, buttons. A friviolity in the wake of eager and practiced digits that mapped winding roads first down the right leg, up and around to wirey curls and then _down_ ; causing a slow release of breath, chaperoned by a lazy grin. 

  
            Peepers were unashamed, it seemed. No matter; he always _did_ love to perform. This time it was a more... _mature_ showing. Not that anything else he did was anything _but_. 

  
            Like a fragile flute, at first did his fingers move; putting pressure in just the right spaces in such practiced succession that his unoccupied limb had to come up and over his shoulder to grip softly to the back of the couch. A soft gyration of hips and a low hum was his own reward.

  
             Swiftly up, and then down; around and then entirely _absent_ from his body. Clearly a fantasy played in mental spaces far too jumbled for the normal man to translate. A chuckle then, and his pitch-shaded trousers were shoved to rest around his thighs; boxers hitching alongside.

  
             Blackened hues cracked open here, though all too quickly they rolled back as he wrapped himself in a heated and tight grip. The hold on the couch tightened with a _yank_ to the faux fabric; a hitch of air, followed by a shuttering _groan_ that was punctuated by the fall back of his head as his hips gave a jerk in time with his hand; body almost twisting amidst the sensation.  
 

_Dizzying, amidst the sobriety._

   
            Eventually, those few minutes of self-imposed torment gave way to a firm rhythm; one all too familiar to Irish nerve-endings. Imagination that likely belonged in Wonderland conjuring images of an Aryian sniper... because he wouldn't lie – No complaints would be had if Sebastian jus-- **_Ohh fuck..._**

   
            A snicker caught someplace between pure endorphin rush and actual humour escaped as he crested that lovely drop; the coil in his spine wound tighter than stretched steel – his back arching with equal strain. The high-point wavered and paused; seeming to stretch for nearly three whole seconds before the inevitable **_snap_** took him and he rode the tight spiral all the way _d o w n_ , teeth digging into his lip to prevent a louder than necessary vocalisation, eyes open wide and locked to the ceiling...

 

                                    The mess was of no consequence.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: First contribution to this site and look at what I've done. Feel free to hit that little 'kudos' button, or even leave a comment!


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